Wild King
by BarracudaHeart
Summary: He continued climbing up until he reached the topmost branch that would allow him to sit, and placed himself right against the trunk, looking out over his childhood kingdom. For now, he would pick at the pine needles or the bark, in the hopes to rest his fidgety hands while he recollected the conversation from breakfast that morning.
It had been years since he came back to this place.

Growing up, back when he had friends he wasn't dying to please, Lars had taken it upon himself to claim his own area of the world to rule over, and as far as he knew, most of the forests around these parts were up for grabs.

The hollowed logs he'd crawl in and lay inside for hours had moss billowing over their entrances like curtains, the few scattered stumps wearing thicker bark, and everything looked like it had aged up right along with him.

Lars even took a peek at his favorite part of this place, the abandoned old station-wagon without any wheels on the front half, the missing driver's side door, and the busted out back window. It was absolutely covered in moss on the underside, and whatever pearly blue paint it had when he had claimed it as a boy was now nothing but solid rust. Peeking inside, he was surprised to see the back seat littered with random junk; food wrappers, rusty cans, rocks, maybe a few rats and snails; but it looked like it had been inhabited recently, judging by the drink canisters left lying on the floor. Probably just some squatters or really messy hikers' trash, Lars had figured.

After taking his tour through memory lane, he'd kicked at a rock thoughtlessly, and opted to climb one of the trees that encircled his old stomping grounds, and dug his hands into the thick bark to give himself a boost, his feet scrambling to help him ascend. He cursed softly as he felt a jagged piece of the bark suddenly dig into his hand, and jammed his thumb into his mouth to suckle at the potential wound. Wiping his digits on his pants, he continued climbing up until he reached the topmost branch that would allow him to sit, and placed himself right against the trunk, looking out over his childhood kingdom.

If he'd thought to do it before he climbed up, he would have gathered some pine cones in his shirt, and spent a while hurling them out into the clearing, seeing if he could strike one of the other trees, or another focused target on the ground, all while thinking over his own thoughts.

For now, he could pick at the pine needles or the bark, in the hopes to rest his fidgety hands while he recollected the conversation from breakfast that morning.

Part of him was a little appreciative that his parents didn't wait until he was a full grown adult or their dying breaths that he was adopted. And part of him could maybe understand why they didn't tell him beforehand; maybe they never felt the need to. After all, he did sort of look like them, he had his father's eyes, and his mom's fussiness and skill of cooking.

But the fact they just chose to tell him now, it sort of unsettled him. What if there _was_ another reason they never told him until now?

They'd given him everything; the pictures the agency had taken of him, his father's handwriting labeling them as '7 weeks old', the documents all written in a language he had difficulty reading, his certificates, and told him it was only fair he saw them. Well, what did they expect him to do? Fly off to China, and get an investigator? Have some tearful reunion with people he didn't know that Hallmark movies would call his 'real' family? Screw that, he had his 'real' family here in boring old Beach City.

He was thinking over his remaining doubts when he was jostled violently in his seat and hugged the trunk of the tree tightly as he felt it tilting. He screamed and hung on for dear life, convinced he was going to die when he heard someone yell 'TIMBER!' He swore he could see his bloody death in his eyes as he saw the forest floor quickly coming to meet him, and he screwed his eyes shut.

The tree suddenly jolted to a stop right before his nose could even kiss the dirt, and a loud cackle filled the air. Lars opened his eyes, still hugging the trunk tightly, and shakily looked over to see Steven's purple lady friend laughing hysterically, holding the tree trunk up in one hand, and a gem studded whip in the other.

"You should have seen the look on your face!", she wheezed, "That was great!"

"YOU!", Lars snapped, sputtering, "Y-You almost got me killed, you fr-"

"Aw, c'mon!", she laughed, "You really think I would let you get smashed?"

"Frankly, I wouldn't want to chance it with you," Lars grumbled, unwrapping himself from the tree, and hopped off, dusting his hands off while he glared at the gem, "What are you even doing here, Amethyst?"

"Eh," she shrugged, resting her hands behind her head as she walked over to the old wrecked car, "I like stowing my stuff here when I don't wanna keep it at home. It's a good place to keep snacks. S'pecially that log there," she pointed.

"Is that why that log smells so bad?", Lars groaned, "That's disgusting!"

"Says you!", she smiled, and reached her hand in the log for a package of snack cakes that looked more fuzzy and green than the moss everywhere. She jammed it in her mouth, and Lars almost gagged.

"Ok, eat your mold cakes then, I'm going home" he rolled his eyes, and turned to leave, only to feel something hit the back of his head. He placed his hand back there to feel it, and felt a gross soft squishiness underneath it.

Amethyst was holding up another one of the long spoiled snacks in her hand, ready to throw it with a large grin.

"YOU LITTLE-", Lars saw red, and lunged to tackle her, only to get a face full of gross sponge cake and cream. He wretched, and wiped his face, and glared as she stood in place and howled with laughter.

"Oh you wanna go?", Lars screeched, and grabbed some of whatever snacks were left in the log, arming himself with a few bags of donut balls, and a long forgotten slice of pizza and fries (yuck), "YOU'RE DEAD."

He cursed as the first projectile he hurled missed, and he chased after her, hardly able to keep up, and the next ten minutes were what could only be described as the most disgusting food fight in history; Amethyst the champion, Lars a failed buffet of garbage.

Once they both stared at the carnage they both had created, Lars suddenly realized the ridiculousness of it all, and began to snicker in spite of himself.

"God," he laughed, "I'm disgusting."

"Aren't you always?", Amethyst smiled smugly.

"You suck," Lars snorted, and flopped on top of the mossy car hood, giving a groan, "So how are you related to Steven again?"

"Eh?", Amethyst looked up from her spot on the ground.

"What, is he like...your brother, or...what?"

"Ohhh, that? Nah, see, gems, we don't really do that kind of thing. Steven is like...one of us...but not!", Amethyst shrugged nonchalantly, "Gems don't really get 'related'."

"Ah," Lars muttered.

"So how are _you_ related to your people?", Amethyst put the spotlight on him.

Lars stared ahead at the sky above him, and stretched his fingers as he figured out his words, "Well, my mom and dad adopted me when I was like...eight months old, I think," he mumbled, "Figured that out today."

Amethyst laughed a bit, "It took you that long to figure out they were your parents? What, did you live out in the dumpster until then-"

"I mean I didn't figure out I was adopted-"

"Is that the same as popping out of the ground?"

"No," Lars rolled his eyes, "Do you- really not know anything about people?"

"I know enough," Amethyst grinned and flexed her hands, "I know where babies come from!", she winked.

"Ew, ok-", Lars huffed, "Adoption is where like, a kid lives with another set of parents than the ones they got born from-"

"Like Steven with us!"

"...yeah, I guess that," Lars mumbled, "And I didn't know that up until today, and I guess I'm a little mad that I know about it now."

"Why'd you be mad about that?"

"It's stupid."

"Ok, but I wanna hear why, so I can laugh at it."

"...You're really mean."

"Thank you!"

"Ugh, OK, if you laugh, I'll ban you from the Big Donut," he glared, then pulled his fingers across his face and gave a tired groan, "So like, I always kind of thought everything that was wrong with me would be like a product of my parents, like genetics, and family history and stuff. Like there's a lot of similar messed up stuff in the family, back from great grandparents- and now I guess I'm not even a product of that? So I have to go back to square one and figure out why I'm like this?"

"Like what?", Amethyst asked, looking puzzled.

"You know! An asshole who can't do anything right. A loser," he muttered, "I just- aghhhh," he groaned, "There's nothing genetic to me hating myself now I guess. I'd have to call a bunch of different people to find out where I came from, figure out that family history, decide if I want to contact that set of parents over there if _they're even alive_. And then figure out if I want to even get involved in that?"

He picked at the moss on the car, "I just have the biggest feeling I probably came from shit, and that's all I'm gonna be: shit. If it isn't genetic, then what is it? I never asked for it to be this way!", he huffed.

Wadding up some moss in his hand, he threw it in the air, and it bounced off his leg and burst into flakes.

"Dude," Amethyst spoke up, tone serious for once, "That isn't your fault."

Lars glanced at her.

"I mean, you didn't ask anybody to put you there, and whatever you came from, you probably came out fine!", she threw her hands up a little, "I mean, you're not like, a _total_ mess-"

"Gee, thanks," Lars rolled his eyes.

"Take it from me, I came from a pretty trashy place, and look how I turned out!"

"...Like a purple disaster?"

"Exactly!", she smiled, and pointed a thumb at him, "And hey, think about it, of all the cute gross human babies they coulda picked, they picked you! What were the odds?"

Lars stared at the sky again, and smiled in spite of himself, "...yeah...what were the odds?", he echoed softly.

After a minute of silence, the air was pierced with the sound of breaking glass, and Lars sat up, startled, "Wha-"

Amethyst grinned as she sat near a pile of rocks she gathered, "Wanna take a throw?"

Lars looked at her, then the rocks, then the car, and hopped up, "Yeah, why not?"

For the next several minutes, the two took turns walloping the dilapidated car with stones, cheering victoriously with every dent and broken window they made, taking out whatever frustrations they had on the hunk of rust and moss. When they ran out of stones, Amethyst summoned her whip and promptly flipped the car with it. Lars yelped as the car was sent tumbling down a nearby steep embankment, and crashed into the thicket of bushes and trees below, absolutely wrecked.

"Welp," Lars spoke straightfaced, "Buh-bye childhood."

Amethyst snickered, and wiping her nose with her thumb, glanced at him, "Want to go grab a bunch of snacks at the 50/50 Mart?"

"Ah, no thanks, I'm covered," Lars muttered, looking at his clothes, "Like, literally."

Amethyst teased him on the walk out of the forest, leaving the wildlife and future visitors to guard the royal remnants of his childhood.


End file.
